


Jeeves and the Imprisoned Lord

by Not-A-Secret-Newt (HungLikeARainbro)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance, Tags May Change, here be dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-04-12 05:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungLikeARainbro/pseuds/Not-A-Secret-Newt
Summary: Crack fantasy AU where Jeeves is turned into a dragon and Bertie is stuck in a tower. It's still the roaring twenties but magic exists and women are knights because why not.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 41
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

A long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away (or perhaps not so far, as it does depend where you are right now as you read this) there was a tall tower in the centre of an immense forest. At the top of the tower lived a young, spindly man with lightly-coloured curled hair and a merry face. He was often to be found whiling away the days enthusiastically singing along as he tickled the ivories of his upright piano, and this particular day he was singing a new song that his Aunt Dahlia had kindly bought the sheet music for and given to him.

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood,_

_I know I could, always be good,_

_To one who'll watch over me._

_Won't you tell them please to put on some speed,_

_Follow my lead, oh how I need,_

_Someone to watch over me..._

"I say, what rot," said the young man. "All that sappy nonsense about 'little lambs' and 'oh-how-I-needs'. My teeth might very well fall out from this sugary stuff. Is this what passes for music these days in the real world?" He paused and slumped onto the windowsill, staring out at the forest carpeted below him. "Although," he added, "one can't help but admire such resilience - if that's the word I want - in the face of abject loneliness. And the melody _is_ pleasant. Perhaps a better singer than this young Wooster would do it more justice, mmm?"

There was a bone shaking rumbling and a dinner plate-sized eye met his bright, baby-blue ones.

"Was 'resilience' correct, my dear dragon?"

It nodded and the quake happened again as it lowered its head and crawled back down the tower to curl up around the bottom to sleep.

"You could at least pretend to be interested in what I have to say," the young man called down, "instead of only popping up for my linguistic queries. There's many a dragon that would happily sit absorbed by the arousing musings of Bertie Wooster."

The dragon only quirked one of the small tufts of hair above its eyes; what Bertie had long assumed worked much like eyebrows in conveying emotion. It seemed amused, currently.

Bertie left the window and closed the shutters to keep out the rising afternoon sun. He did not enjoy being imprisoned in the tower, but he did enjoy the shade it provided at these times. There was only one window, so he could not open another to let a cooling breeze through. Instead he sweated out the summer and kept his water rations for drinking rather than washing.

"Those knights would be far less enthusiastic if they could smell me," Bertie sighed. "I do rather miss running water."

Since he was twelve years old, after his parents were involved in an untimely accident and left him orphaned and siblingless, he had been under the care of his aunts and uncles. His luck fell further when it became apparent to every lady in the kingdom that he was to inherit the desirable title of Lord Yaxley from his Uncle George. This made him a tantalising prospect for marrying, and one some young women were prepared to shed blood over.

They frequently turned up at his school, and even his temporary home with Aunt Dahlia at Brinkley Court to vie for his attention. During an exceptionally violent kerfuffle between two sisters, Bertie's Uncle Tom had several beloved pieces from his silver collection damaged beyond repair, and it was the final straw for the otherwise moderately patient guardian.

It was Agatha's - Bertie's other and less affectionate aunt - idea to lock him away in a secret location to deter them. However, word got out, as it so often did, and Bertie Wooster had spent most of his adult life watching girls 'duke it out' (as one of his old school chums delicately put it) on the ground far below.

In fact, he was quite certain watching attractive women engaging in fisticuffs and duels was the only reason his friends even visited him. They seemed to get a thrill out of it. Bertie just found the whole thing immensely depressing.

His only solace was the dragon that guarded his tower. It spent most of the time curled around the base to make sure no-one tried to sneak in without permission or earning the reward first. But sometimes it would climb the crumbling bricks of the tower and put its head in the window so it could listen to Bertie's complaints, or singing, or his latest writings.

Bertie did think it strange at first. He'd been taught as a lad that dragons were dumb, vicious beasts that were a pest and better off found at the pointy end of a sword. This dragon was highly intelligent. It understood not only what Bertie said, but what he meant to have really said. It couldn't read his writing, but he was quite certain that that was only because it was too small for it to see.

And it was an exceedingly odd-looking dragon. It was shining black and broad, whereas most dragons in the region were a muddy green and sleek. Bertie assumed it was an exotic species his aunt had found on a hunting trip abroad. Its head bulged slightly at the back, and though it shared a pale-coloured belly with its cousins, there was also a ring of black around the neck leading into a stripe down the middle of its chest. It reminded Bertie of a tie.

Then there was its habit of walking on its rear legs. Apart from when it slept around the bottom of the tower, it seemed to loathe the idea of crawling along on its belly like a common lizard.

Not to mention the expressive eyebrows. Dragons didn't normally have eyebrows.

Still, Bertie was thankful for the company, as intriguing as it was. Anything that broke up the monotony between warring fiancees was a godsend in his book.

~~~~~

"I say Bertie, she's a corker! Don't you think?"

"She's a hundred feet below us and wearing a helmet, how can you possibly tell?"

Bertie's visitor put out his cigarette and pouted at him. "It's not just about pretty features and a slender silhouette. Gumption is also attractive, and I can see hers from a mile away. Any red-blooded male could see it."

"Well, I'll have to check the colour of mine the next time I do myself a mischief because I see no gumption from here, Bingo."

"To be perfectly honest," Bingo said, looking aside guiltily and reaching for a fresh cigarette, "I met her on my way up here. She's named Rosie M Banks; a writer, you know? Oh Bertie, she's a heavenly creature."

"You carry on then, my old chum. Don't let me stop you."

"But she's set on you, Bertie."

"My title and money is what she's set on. Isn't that right, my dear dragon?"

The dragon sniffed in polite agreement from its spot at the window.

Bingo frowned. "Bertie, I do wish you wouldn't speak to that thing. People will think you queer."

The dragon's eyebrow twitched in a fashion that suggested to Bertie that it was tempted to help light Bingo's cigarette for him.

"Now now," said Bertie firmly. "I'll not hear a word against my faithful guard. He's watched over me for five years and not a single beazel has accosted me in that time."

"Only you could be proud of that. What a waste."

"What do you mean?"

"Take Ms Banks down there. She's willing to go up against Ms Glossop for you, and you'll not even look the poor girl's way after."

Bertie dashed back to the window in a panic. "Good lord, not that beastly woman... Ms Banks will be crushed by her handshake before the match even begins."

Honoria Glossop was one of the few women that had survived a previous fight with enough energy to make it up the tower. Bertie was grateful that the dragon had subtly tripped her up with its tail before she could reach the entrance. They both knew that she was the most likely woman to prove herself eventually, unless - God willing! - some other unfortunate sap earned her affections instead.

Looking down, he found Rosie was proving to be a formidable foe in their duel, being smaller and faster than Honoria's brash but clumsy moves. They agreed to a draw and waved cheerfully up at the two men watching from the tower window.

Bingo swooned. "Oh Bertie, if only Ms Banks would be mine."

"I'd say now's your chance. Go on and catch her before she leaves."

Bingo jumped up and grabbed his jacket. "Good thinking. She must need comforting after her bitter failure."

The door slammed and Bertie heard the footsteps fading away from him until all that was left to hear was evening birdsong and Honoria's braying laughter wafting up from her conversation with her opponent. Most women seemed to come away from a fight over him with a new best friend, Bertie realised. That at least was something nice that came out from the whole nonsense.

~~~~~

Summer came and went in the blink of an eye and Bertie was relieved to have the air cool down around him. He rather liked autumn now he was older. As a child he preferred summer because it meant no school, and running around causing mischief for his nanny or whomever was unfortunate enough to be monitoring his behaviour for the day. Autumn meant a golden forest to gaze out upon and an earlier night for stargazing. He wished he knew a little more about that sort of thing. He had books about it, but all he saw when he looked up were clusters of dots, not dogs or bears, or any animal that could resemble a cluster of dots.

"There's a dragon up there," he told his own dragon excitedly one night. "I'll be damned if I can find the blasted thing, though." It nodded at him. Bertie supposed it was so clever it knew exactly where it was. If only you could tell me, he thought wistfully at the time.

That autumn, the awaiting Lord Yaxley got his wish.


	2. Chapter 2

"WOOOOOOOSTEEEEEEERRRRRR!!!"

A loud roar followed by his name being bellowed in a rising shriek woke Bertie up at a rudely early hour of the morning. "I say," he muttered and fell bonelessly out of his bed.

The roar had come from his dragon, which he didn't mind. After all, it was only doing its job and trying to keep the name-yeller at bay. They were the real thorn in his side at that particular moment. When Bertie hung his head out of the window he could see the dragon wrapped protectively around the tower, its neck going from side to side like an angry snake's and thrashing its tail towards a large and pudding-faced man; congealed pudding in Bertie's opinion (when he got a better look through his binoculars) and the rest of him resembled an exceedingly ugly and out-of-shape gorilla.

Bertie was incensed. "Who the devil are you? You'd better not be here for me. My Aunt Agatha made it quite clear that your kind – though I personally have no issue with the dalliances in which you partake in your personal life – are not welcome to woo me. Women only!"

"Don't be disgusting," the stranger shouted up. "What I'm here for will be far more pleasurable."

"Oh?"

"For me at least."

"Eh?"

"I'm here to kill you, Wooster."

"Ah." Bertie considered this announcement carefully. "I'd rather you didn't."

The dragon roared again.

The stranger puffed out his chest defiantly. "And I'll not be put off by this… this… oily beast."

Bertie wasn't going to stand for that. "I'll not stand for that," he barked back at the intruder. "Give me your name so I know what to write on your headstone after it devours you, you cad." He paled slightly and leaned through the window to whisper at the dragon, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. Was that a tad strong?"

The dragon seemed delighted by its master's thirst for blood. It cooed happily and shimmered gracefully down the tower, snapping its jaws eagerly. Bertie knew for a fact that it had never eaten a guest but he half hoped it would make an exception this one time.

"Stay back, Servant of Satan," the stranger told the advancing creature.

"I'm not Satan," Bertie protested.

"I am referring to dragons in general, nincompoop."

Hearing its master being insulted by someone that resembled a shaved bear was the last straw for the dragon. It reared up and flapped its wings as a final warning.

The purple man spread out his arms confidently. "See here Wooster, you shameless, philandering bounder. Flitting from one pretty love-struck flower to another like a feckless nectar-hunting hummingbird."

"The flowers come to me, I'll have you know," said Bertie. "I don't pursue nectar of any sort and yet it is persistently poured upon me. Blame the flowers."

"You'll break no more hearts in this world," the stranger continued regardless of the plea above. It was clear that he had prepared the speech, was proud of it, and would not be interrupted until it was finished. "I will lift your pet's curse and we shall see how well it can protect you _then_."

The stranger took a vial from his pocket and threw it to the floor to break it. Smoke rose up from the brew inside. He began an incantation and Bertie ducked down as the smoke changed to fierce winds and enveloped the scene, whipping leaves and debris into his room. 

"A witch!" Bertie exclaimed. Normally he would have been excited by this revelation. There were few left in the world, and they kept to themselves to avoid being treated like wish-granting genies (of which there were even fewer). But this was a bad witch and he was endangering Bertie and, more vitally, his dragon. That simply was not on.

Bertie forced his window shut and ran out of his room onto the tower's inner winding staircase. He gulped. He had been down them before to escape the cabin fever of staying in the same few rooms at the top of the tower, and because the cellar for keeping his food fresh was at the bottom. He'd never gone much further though. The dragon made sure of that. Gently but firmly it always deposited him back inside whenever he had attempted a walk in the fresh air.

He supposed that was its job too. Keep intruders out, keep Mr Wooster in.

The dragon was too busy to stop him making a run for it now, but Bertie was kind-hearted and soft-headed, and would never do the dirty on his faithful warden. It was in trouble with a magical maniac and although Bertie wasn't sure he could do anything against the witch, he was going to do _something_.

He burst through the doorway and after taking a moment to marvel at the feeling of soft spongy grass under his shoes for the first time in a long while, he peered through the whirling storm to seek out his dragon.

An almighty sound of several trees crashing to the ground turned his head northward; a nearby scream turned it back to the west. The witch flew through the air past him and slammed against the tower. They fell into a crumpled heap on the ground, groaning from the pain.

Bertie nudged him with his foot. "Dare I say it serves you right! Who are you? What are you planning to do with my dragon?"

"The dragon..." the witch hissed. "The dragon… is already no more."

Swallowing thickly, Bertie looked about in denial. It must have been the dragon that threw the witch and yet he couldn't make out its vast shape anymore.

The storm howled around and seemed unlikely to stop without the word from its master. Or perhaps it was whenever the substance in the vial ran out. Bertie wished he knew how the spell worked. He had read very little about magic. As fascinating as he found it, he failed to understand much. It was easier to curl up with a detective novel of a cold night.

Just then the storm subsided and all the forest detritus it had stirred up fell to the ground.

There was no dragon to be seen.

_"Sir!"_

Bertie let out an unmanly shriek as a thick arm slipped around his head from behind him and began to crush his throat. The witch had gained a second wind and taken the opportunity whilst Bertie was distracted to creep up on him. The young man struggled in his grip.

_"Sir!"_

The witch suddenly screamed and let go of him. Bertie's legs folded from weakness. He dropped to his hands and knees and gulped for air until a soft thump nearby brought his head back up. Another stranger that was not the witch had collapsed unconscious beside him. This man was also large, but in the manner of a trained boxer rather than extravagant living like the witch appeared to enjoy. The gentleman's hair was thick and mostly dark; silver streaked through in some areas and peppered the edges of his face. His jaw and nose were square and defined, and pleasant-looking. His body…

Bertie's eyes travelled downward and swiftly retreated from embarrassment. "Good lord, he's completely naked!" he ejaculated. He sat up and – averting his eyes as best he could – he covered the other man's lower half with his jacket. Looking past the body, in the distance he could see the witch retreating; limping and holding his shoulder. Bertie began to piece together what had happened. This gentleman had saved him from the witch, and in the resulting tussle both had become injured.

Quite what the gentleman was doing in the forest, and without a shred of clothing, was the real mystery. But Bertie loved a good puzzle to chew over.

"First things first," he said to the comatose man. "Let's find something to cover you properly." Bertie looked down at himself. "Hmm, borrowing clothes is clearly out of the question. My frame is perhaps too deer-like compared to this magnificent bison, if one were to use ungulates as a comparison."

He checked that the gentleman was able to breathe clearly and that there were no gravely bleeding wounds. He was missing a fingernail and his head was bulging slightly at the back, but other than that he was fine. However Bertie knew a head injury was not something to take lightly. He nimbly leapt up the tower stairs as quickly as he could. He grabbed a thick woollen blanket for modesty and a pair of slippers. The gentleman's feet looked a little bigger than his own, but his heels could hang off the ends.

As he carefully descended the stairs with the bundle of items, he hoped that the gentleman would stir soon. Firstly, he wanted to thank him of course, but also to ask if he'd seen what happened to the dragon. Bertie was fretting horribly about it.

Thirdly, he didn't fancy trying to drag such a broad man's unconscious form up the staircase of a hundred-foot tower.

To Bertie's relief, he found the gentleman sitting with his legs crossed and the jacket wrapped around his shoulders when he returned. "What-ho!" he called in warning as he approached in case he startled him.

The gentleman turned and froze at the sight of him. "Sir?" he whispered in a low, smooth voice.

"Ah, so that was you 'sirring' before?" said Bertie with a wide smile. "I did wonder. You saved me from that magic-wielding fiend, didn't you?"

It was possible the gentleman had received a worse head injury than Bertie initially thought. He wouldn't stop staring at him and seemed unable to speak any other words.

"Oh dear. My good man, you're not mute, are you? It's fine if you are but I've never been all that good at charades. We might not get very far if you only have 'sir's to throw about."

"I apologise," the gentleman said slowly. This time his voice came out hoarse. "It has been a while… since I last spoke."

Bertie waved a hand to shush him. "Say no more, dear fellow. It has just occurred to me that I'm being a dreadful host, not to mention acting ungrateful to my saviour. Let's get you to my bedroom and warm you up."

The gentleman looked petrified by this prospect but the blanket and slippers had already been shoved into his arms, and he was too cold to protest. He refused to let the younger man shoulder some of his weight and he stubbornly climbed the stairs unassisted. Bertie walked behind in case he felt faint and tumbled down, and bit back the urge to fill the silence with inane chatter. The gentleman wasn't well after his ordeal, and if he were honest with himself neither was he. His throat hurt more than he had realised. The rush of adrenaline had gone and all that was left was pain and confusion.

Who was that witch, and what had he wanted? Where had this other stranger come from, and where did the dragon go?

"Curiouser and curiouser, I would say if my name were Alice. Which it is not."

"Sir?" queried the gentleman from a few steps above him.

"Nothing, my good man," said Bertie. "Nearly there, now. I rather fancy a cup of tea, don't you?"

The gentleman stopped to look at him and Bertie smiled back amiably. The corner of the gentleman’s mouth twitched upward and he continued on without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bertie doesn't know Jeeves well enough to realise he is a gazelle, not a bison. Rude!
> 
> *For anyone sad that dragon-Jeeves is already gone, it will be back at some point.
> 
> *Also the only reason Spode is still alive is because I plan on beating him up even more :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In which Jeeves makes a rare mistake (in his defence he was a dragon half an hour ago, he's still a bit muddled)**

Though it was never the intention for Bertie to do anything exceptional or worthwhile with his life, he was expected not to waste it entirely, and the best way to increase the chances of making something of oneself was to have a proper education. His aunts' aspirations were always for him to have good schooling followed by a stint at university.

Uncle Tom sobbing his heart out over a broken (and possibly Modern Dutch although he would never admit to it) cow creamer had scuppered Bertie's future on the sharp, pointy rocks of reality.

He was promptly deposited in the tower shortly after school ended when he was only eighteen years old and with virtually no sense of how to take care of himself. His family stayed in a cottage nearby and over the course of the summer they taught him how to be self-sufficient enough. Aunt Dahlia's chef, Anatole, impatiently taught him a few basics of cooking. At the very least, Bertie learned how to boil water for tea and for washing without burning the tower down. Someone would be hired to come in and clean once a week, so it wasn't necessary for Bertie to learn how to get on his hands and knees with a scrubbing brush – a huge relief.

As a young man, Bertie had very much been looking forward to a future of drinking, smoking, and having his clothes freshly pressed whilst he was recovering from a night of merrymaking with pals at a local club, so that he could go out and do it all over again that night too.

But no, he spent his first autumn as an adult up in the tower, shivering and miserable and desperately poking the feeble glow at the bottom of the hearth. He would probably have never made it through the winter if his Aunt Agatha hadn't brought him an early Christmas gift.

**~~~~~**

Bertie had spent that bitter late November morning huddled in pyjamas, dressing gown, long coat, and blankets on his bed. He was running out of clean handkerchiefs to wipe his frozen nose, and his clothes wouldn't be cleaned for a few days yet. He was about to resign to his fate, and strike three matches whereupon his parents would come to take him away to a heavenly place, when he heard an unhealthy-sounding engine sputtering away. He stepped into his slippers and his feet managed to move him towards the window in spite of their numbness.

Trundling up the roughly-carved road was a tractor. Behind it was a long trailer carrying a cage with a dragon inside. It paced not unlike a tiger at the zoo.

Bertie raced down the stairs and threw open the door, almost hitting his aunt in the face. "Idiot child!" she snapped at him.

"Terribly sorry, Aunt Agatha."

"At least you're up. I was expecting you to still be festering in your bed."

"But it's cold...

She brushed his complaints away with a sharp 'tsk'. "Never mind all that. I've brought you something."

"I can see." He stared up at the rampaging beast in awe. "Hard to miss it, really."

"Don't be facetious, Bertie."

"Sorry, Aunt Agatha. Thank you, Aunt Agatha. But if I may ask, not to sound ungrateful or anything, I appreciate the thought and all that, I'm bowled over by your generosity, you really shouldn't have, there was no need to…"

"Spit it out, boy. Stop your blithering and get to the point."

"Well, what do I need a dragon for?"

"Extra precaution. You can take care of yourself well enough by now. The dragon is only to make sure we don't have another Florence Craye situation."

Bertie shivered, and not from the low temperature.

Florence Craye had broken in just over a week ago. Fortunately for Bertie she simply sat in his armchair and read some intellectually provocative books to him in the hopes of improving his mind. "If I'm going to go to the effort of fighting for you," she explained, "I must make sure you're going to be worth it, Bertie." He could only nod at her and pretend to agree, praying for help to come quickly. She was escorted from the premises by a local bobby, and afterwards there was a great deal of talk on how to prevent it from happening again.

"A dragon though?" said Bertie. "How do you know it won't simply eat me?"

"There's no meat on you for a start. Dragons are surprisingly picky. In any case, this one is well-trained."

Bertie laughed lightly and shook his head. "You can't train a dragon. I know the ancient Vikings gave it a try once but-"

"Don't answer back, you obtuse wretch." Aunt Agatha took a large key from her pocket and rapped it on the bars of the cage. The dragon halted its pacing and turned to glare at her. "See here, dragon. This is my nephew, Bertie. You'll be watching over him."

It lifted its eyes and gazed at Bertie.

"Hullo!" Bertie said cheerfully.

It immediately covered its head with its hands and collapsed on the floor of the cage, howling loudly.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked his aunt worriedly.

"Probably the sight of you in your pyjamas at two in the afternoon," was her curt reply.

"Why would a dragon care about that?"

"I told you, dragons are surprisingly picky. I hope from now on you'll turn yourself out far better."

And so Bertie found himself in possession of a dragon. His aunt informed him that there was no upkeep involved and that it could feed itself; and would sleep around the tower from that day forth and make sure he was left in peace. This sounded all well and good to Bertie until he went back to his room after his aunt left, and found the dragon poking its head through the window and scrutinising his belongings.

"Just one moment, you scaly scavenger! Get out of my personal space this instant."

The dragon raised an eyebrow slightly.

Bertie raised one back.

It opened its mouth and curled a long, thin tongue back into the roof of its mouth. There was a small spark and a ball of flame burst out and filled the hearth with a large healthy fire.

"I'm agog," said Bertie, goggling to prove so. "There's a useful trick for the coming months. Thank you very much."

The dragon silently left the window and Bertie watched it as it slithered gracefully down the brickwork and curled up to sleep with a large sigh.

He felt rather sorry for it. "I really don't mind you visiting now and then, you know. If you'd like the company. All I ask is that you give a chap fair warning before you shove your snout in anywhere."

It didn't answer, and Bertie feared himself mad for thinking it might.

**~~~~~**

The memory of their first meeting hung in Bertie's mind as he looked at the cold fireplace. He adored his dragon, of course, but it had also proven useful in his life.

The gentleman was sitting in the armchair next to the hearth, and then only after Bertie had practically bullied him into doing it. He seemed reluctant to make himself comfortable in his home.

"Sorry old man," said Bertie. "I'm not very good at starting fires. Not on purpose, anyway. My dragon used to take care of all that. Don't suppose you saw it? Forty feet tall I would hazard, and black with a smattering of white."

"I've seen no dragons, sir."

"Dashed shame. I hope it turns up. And I also hope that witch gets what's coming to him for all the trouble he's caused. With a little comeuppance on top, to boot."

"Sir, I can take care of the fire if you like."

Bertie stepped aside so that the gentleman could kneel by the hearth and get to work, warning him anxiously, "Mind your blanket."

"I intend to be quite cautious, sir. Thank you."

"Almost gone up myself a few times. An unpleasant shock to find your favourite tie aflame, I can tell you."

"Indeed, sir. A fate I hope to avoid, though I am currently without a tie."

"Yes. Perhaps a more comfortable outfit is in order." Bertie strode purposefully over to his bookshelves and ran his slender fingers over their spines. "I'm sure I have a book of fancy-dress costumes amongst these. We can make you a toga out of a bed sheet. Not the fanciest of wear but far more agreeable than an itchy blanket." He found the book he wanted and began to thumb through the pages with haste. "Hmm, I said 'toga' didn't I?"

"You did, Mr Wooster."

"Did I mean a chiton?"

"Possibly sir. The Roman tunica, or tunic, is similar to the Greek chiton, and often mistakenly called a toga."

"How did you know my name?"

The gentleman turned away from the newborn fire and the line of his profile was cast in a warm amber. "Sir?"

"You said my name. A moment or so before."

His face remained stoic.

"I suppose you'll tell me that you heard the witch say it, hmm? You were close enough to hear that fellow, and yet you missed a large, black dragon in broad daylight?"

Again, there was no movement in the gentleman's expression. "Sir…"

"I realise I'm not the most intelligent of men," Bertie said sulkily, "but what little grey matter I have bouncing around my skull is capable of working out that you're mendacious, if that's the word I want." Where was his scaly dictionary when he needed it? "Either you're lying about seeing my dragon, or you knew of me before you came here."

"Mr Wooster, of course I know you. Everyone knows you," the gentleman patiently answered. "You are a young man due to be a lord, locked in a tower, guarded by a dragon, and frequently under siege by duelling knights. You are quite the unique figure, sir, and much discussed about the fair city of London."

"Yes, yes of course. Dreadfully sorry, dear fellow. One has to be suspicious in these circs," Bertie mumbled.

He looked so embarrassed by his presumption that the corner of the gentleman's lip lifted slightly upward in a kind smile. "Would you like to know my name, sir?"

"Very much so."

"I am Jeeves."

"Just Jeeves?"

"Yes sir."

"Well then, Just Jeeves," said Bertie with a mischievous chuckle. "Let's find you my most fashionable bed sheet, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Oh Bertie, you were so close to solving this incredibly obvious mystery**


	4. Chapter 4

There was a faint scent in the air that hinted of approaching rain and this worried Bertie. Dragons were not fond of wet weather, for obvious reasons, and the thought of his guardian shivering and miserable in the cold damp made him all the more fretful. He hoped it was still in the forest somewhere and could shelter beneath the leafy canopy as it usually did.

It was too intelligent to have left the safety of the woodlands, he reasoned, slumped on his windowsill and staring vigilantly outwards so that Jeeves could wind the bedsheets around himself in private. Bertie had offered to help him dress but was met with an expression he decided to deem 'soupy'.

A flock of birds rising up from the lake beyond the forest brought his attention back to his dragon musings. The lake was the farthest it ever went; where it ate its fill of fish each morning and evening. Bertie couldn't see it catch them because the trees obscured his view. He only saw it when it would swoop down and back up again with water pouring from the sides of its mouth. It must be a lot like eating a plate of kippers all at once, he supposed. Only wetter.

Apart from visits to the lake, it wasn't a wandering beast. It seemed content to spend all its time at the tower, although Bertie realised early on that it must be a very clean creature as it didn't leave any excrement lying around as he had expected of a wild animal. Or perhaps that was dragons in general and they all buried their business in secret. That would be difficult to keep up after a while if one never moved home. Maybe they produced guano of some sort. They were reptiles after all, and they flew.

"Jeeves?"

"Sir."

"Do dragons produce guano?" Bertie couldn't see it but somehow he knew he was being given a 'soupy' look once again and he tried to explain his thought pattern. "Only that they're likely to have cloacae being scaly birds and all, so I thought-"

"Please sir, if we could refrain from discussing dragons." Jeeves was finally dressed (as far as he could be in Bertie's bedsheet-cum-chiton) and he approached the window. "Shall I prepare some breakfast?"

"Oh rather! You're bound to be better than I at the old cooking lark."

"I profess to have some skills, sir."

"Give me a shopping list and I'll pop down to the local cellar then."

Jeeves's lip quirked imperceptibly from amusement and he sent Bertie to fetch the ingredients he wanted. Bertie bounded eagerly down the stairs. It was good to have a temporary distraction from worrying. When he returned, Jeeves had both a kettle and pot on the boil.

"Bad and good news, Jeeves. The bread's gone a little stale - but! - no mould to be seen."

"Quite alright for our purposes, Mr Wooster. I am making poached eggs and toast."

Bertie salivated. "Goodness, I don't think I've had poached eggs since I was in shorts at school. I'm looking forward to it."

Jeeves helped himself to the seasonings on the spice rack and then shimmered gracefully around the kitchen as if he had used it every day of his life and knew every nook and cranny. It wasn't long before Bertie was sitting upon his bed with a tray in his lap topped with the most delicious breakfast he'd had in months.

For a moment, there was an internal struggle over class etiquette to be had in the mind of Jeeves, before he gave in and put another two slices of bread over the fire. Bertie wolfed down his breakfast in the time it took Jeeves to prepare his own, and the young man watched him top his toast with the perfectly-shaped wobbling eggs in awe.

"They're from a farm down the road," Bertie said in order to create conversation. "My aunt brings fresh ones whenever she visits." He was suddenly embarrassed about how little he had to say. No wonder Jeeves was getting fed up with dragon-talk, if it was all Bertie could offer. Jeeves simply nodded politely as if he were interested in the fact provided but not enough to pursue further information. Bertie decided to let him eat in peace and went to get his clothes ready for the day.

**~~~~~**

As Bertie dressed, Jeeves busied himself with washing their dishes and boiling more water for tea. It was suddenly a disadvantage to have only a bachelor's teapot, for Bertie rarely had guests and certainly not for any great length of time. Bertie pondered how long the gentleman would be staying in his home. It wasn't as though he could stroll down to the nearest village and politely ask for a lift to London whilst in a bedsheet and slippers.

Or perhaps he could. 

Bertie had known Jeeves for barely a couple of hours and he had already sussed an air about him that things would go his way whether or not you wanted them to do so. He had tried very hard to put his foot down about Jeeves helping himself to the housework - "you're supposed to be a guest, you know" - but before Bertie knew it he had been spun towards his bed, an outfit was laid out and a "I'll hear no more about it" ahem was thrown his way.

He was in no doubt that Jeeves would not only circumvent being treated as a wandering madman if he turned up at the local post office wearing old bedding, but that he'd probably be rewarded with riches and titles, like that miller's son with the cat in boots. What a scandal that was when he was found out.

But Bertie was not to be outdone in stubbornness. He finished dressing and marched over to the sink. "Jeeves," he said in a firm tone that was slightly undermined by the aforementioned Jeeves quickly drying his hands and adjusting his tie for him, "Jeeves, I'll have no more of this biffing around the kitchen. You made breakfast and that was more than enough help. I'm quite used to clearing up after myself."

"I do not mind, sir. I am a valet by profession."

"Well you're not professioning right now. Sit down and put your feet up. This minute."

"I shall make the tea first, sir."

Bertie faltered. Jeeves did make an exceptional cup of tea. "If you must, but only because the one I had at breakfast tasted of the proverbial ambrosia."

"You are most kind to say so, Mr Wooster," said Jeeves as he turned to the whistling kettle.

"Merely speaking the truth, my good man." Bertie went and admired his outfit in the mirror on the wardrobe. "I say, this is a spiffing combo you chose. You must be a highly sought-after valet."

"I've had no complaints so far, sir."

Jeeves let the water come off the boil before pouring it in the teapot, and Bertie was relieved when instead of picking up a new chore the valet paused in front of the bookcase and perused the titles. He selected one of the books by Spinoza that Florence had brought that one awful night. 

"May I borrow this, sir?"

"Oh have at! Couldn't understand a bally word, except an occasional 'the'. I only kept it because-"

Bertie bit his lip in time to stop the sentence. The dragon had nosed it off the shelf one day and seemed eager to read it, however it struggled; the print was very small even for human sight, and it tried to stare down its nose and turn its head to read with one eye at a time but nothing worked. So Bertie, feeling sorry for it, read a few passages out loud now and then, enough to sate the creature without boiling his own mind.

At that moment, it occurred to Bertie that it was odd that the dragon had tried to read in the first place. As if it had once been able to...

"You were saying, sir?"

Bertie shook his head. "Ah, sorry Jeeves. Got a touch of the melancholy and lost track of things."

"The dragon again, sir?"

"I know, I know." Bertie sighed. "I'll admit that as a lad I was first in line to make fun of those that simpered and cooed and nuzzled over their spaniels and canaries and newts."

"Newts, sir," said Jeeves with no inflection.

"Indeed, my man. Newts. But I have some understanding now. Our furry, feathery, slimy, scaly friends wriggle into our hearts without even knocking first. And not much to be done about it once they set up shop there."

Jeeves took the bookmark out of the pages and turned it around in his hand. "You are fond of the dragon, sir. I'm sure it knows this by your kind treatment. It would not abandon you."

"You really think so?"

"I do, sir."

At this reassurance, Bertie finally relaxed and joined Jeeves by the fireplace with a book of his own, the two reading peacefully until their stomachs told them it was lunchtime with the precision of Big Ben itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Which do you think guys, Jeeves had an InvisiDragonDick or an InvisiCloaca?**
> 
> **(discord joke)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you for your kind words and patience!**

It may have been time for lunch - as the rumbling in Bertie's belly informed him fervently - but it was not to be had as of yet, for the moment Jeeves stood to look through the cupboards for culinary inspiration there was a loud braying sound from outside the tower that made Bertie's blood freeze.

He dashed to the window with his binoculars and groaned in disbelief when he peered through and saw Honoria Glossop with another smaller (but weren't they all in comparison?) woman.

"My good man, we have an issue," Bertie announced grimly.

Jeeves borrowed the binoculars and analysed the situation. "This will not be a difficult one to solve, Mr Wooster. It also answers a few questions I have had stewing in my mind."

"Oh?" Bertie oh'd in astonishment.

"The young lady with Miss Glossop is Miss Madeline Bassett."

Bertie had a vague recollection of Madeline. They'd not met in person but he had it on good authority that she was wetter than an otter's galoshes and a huge pacifist. "She's not seriously here to fight, and with Honoria of all people?"

"It would appear so, sir."

"But she'll be flattened! She'll be a human crêpe. She'll be served up with lemon and sugar."

"Perhaps this is why Mr Spode was so adamant over your demise earlier. If you were no longer alive then Miss Bassett would have no need to duel, and he would be free to continue to pursue her hand."

"Spode and Bassett? Really?"

"He has had designs on her since she was a child."

Bertie pulled a face. "How ghastly."

"Indeed, sir. However, I believe that I can dissuade the young lady. It will not take long." Jeeves set down the binoculars and headed for the door before realising his attire was not suited to engaging with strangers, in particular women. "Mr Wooster, is there perhaps any way to cover myself more thoroughly?"

"None that I can think of, I'm afraid. I have a large coat but it will be rather tight on you."

"It will be better than nothing, sir."

Bertie had to agree there. Whilst it was perfectly fine for him to gaze upon another man's bare muscular arms and downy chest hair and thick firm calves, it would be scandalous for it to be shared with Honoria and Madeline. 

The coat turned out to fit around Jeeves snugly but tolerably and they would have to hope that it was good enough that the women wouldn't return to London to spread rumours about the indecent behaviour they'd encountered.

Bertie went ahead whilst Jeeves prepared further, and Honoria hollered his name excitedly the moment she saw his face at the door at the bottom of the tower. "Stay back, you!" she advised smugly. "This is no place for a soft boy like you."

"Well really," said Bertie. "I am perfectly equipped to deal with displays of violence. I was raised by aunts, you know." He cocked his head at the trembling girl overshadowed by Honoria's bulk. "I say, are you Miss Bassett?"

She squeaked.

"Don't let her mild manner fool you," said Honoria as she stroked the plume of Madeline's helmet, "she's a hell-cat underneath."

"I'm sure she is," Bertie muttered. 

"Sir…"

Jeeves manifested by his side so suddenly and silently that Bertie fell against the door in fright.

"Mr Wooster, shall I attend to your guests?"

"By all means," he gasped, still a little shaken.

Jeeves shimmered out into the open and spoke with the women privately. They seemed to barely notice his ridiculous attire and Bertie suspected it had more to do with Jeeves himself than in their possibly being simpletons. He had a way of holding himself that made him an immediate presence, or a shadow, whichever he needed to be at the time. You simply did not judge the outfit of a presence, it just wasn't done. And a shadow wasn't noticed for long enough to be judged.

Though perhaps it could be his subtle handsomeness that made one forgive him. Bertie had read about that sort of thing; a sopping gentleman covered in weeds clambering out of a pond and all the nearby beazels, instead of screaming for help, reached for their smelling salts. You had to be a very charming fellow to pull that off, and in his imagination Bertie could clearly see Jeeves soaked to the skin and emerging from a cool, turquoise lake and making the whole debacle seem perfectly normal.

"Sir."

"Hmm, what is it Jeeves?" said Bertie as he shook the wet valet from his mind.

"It would appear that Miss Bassett, upon hearing of your imprisonment, worked herself into 'quite a fret', as it was phrased, over the years. I have deduced that she has made an arrangement with Miss Glossop. They will engage in a staged battle where she will be the victor and be able to bring you safely to her home for eventual marriage."

"Ah, then there was never any threat to the poor girl?"

"No, sir."

"Well bally well explain that to the hulking great nincompoop who tried to do away with me this morning."

"Cheating is very much against the rules, sir. It would reflect badly on the young lady's character if she were caught. I must ask that you pretend I have not divined their scheme nor provided you with any of this information, and allow the fight to continue as normal." 

"So we're just going to sit here and watch Honoria pretend to thrash Madeline to a soppy pulp?"

"Yes sir, although it is Miss Bassett who will thrash Miss Glossop."

Bertie laid out his jacket on the ground and sat down with a resigned sigh. "Oh well, if it can't be helped. Perhaps some nibbles and drink during the performance, Jeeves?"

"I shall see what I can gather, Mr Wooster," he replied with an obedient nod. "I'm sure the combatants would be pleased with some refreshments afterwards."

"If they can still chew," Bertie mumbled to himself. He winced as Honoria handed her spare sword to Madeline. She fell over from the weight immediately with an ear-piercing squeal of fright.

Jeeves returned promptly with the goodies that Bertie had asked for and the match began. It went much like he had predicted; Madeline feebly swinging a sword at her opponent (a wooden practice sword turned out to be the only one which she could lift), and Honoria theatrically howling in pain and stumbling. It was like watching an amateur production of Shakespeare but without the dirty jokes.

"Jeeves," Bertie said, when Madeline did her very best war-cry (by literally crying) and thrusting her sword at least a yard to the side of Honoria, who then fell to the ground dramatically throwing out her limbs and quivering. "Jeeves, please tell me that was the final act."

"I think so, sir," he said with a similar level of desperation and he stood and applauded the display. Bertie hopped to his feet and joined in. Madeline blushed and played with her hair shyly.

Honoria sat up and beamed at them all. "Quite the scuffle, eh lads?"

"Indeed, Miss Glossop," said Jeeves. "A laudable tie."

"Tie!" she exclaimed. "I was thoroughly wrung out!"

"Jeeves," Bertie hissed into his ear, "what are you doing?"

"If you agree that Miss Bassett is the winner then you will be married as soon as it is possible," Jeeves murmured back.

Bertie baulked at the thought. He called out to them enthusiastically, "It really was a splendid battle, you're both truly equals, such a shame to call it even!"

"Wretched idiot," Honoria shot back. "Blunding fool that you are, Bertie. Do you have any idea what you've turned down?" She gathered all of the equipment into a pile in a rage as Madeline stood at the side out of her way and gazed at Bertie sadly.

Bertie could only shrug in embarrassment. "Sorry, Madeline. It was a tough call, you know. "

"Oh Bertie," Madeline said. Bertie was relieved because he had begun to think she couldn't speak at all. "Dear Bertie, I so wanted to free you from this place. When I heard all about your predicament I became desperate to save you. You reminded me of one of those poor animals trapped in zoos."

"Like a tiger, you mean?"

"No, a giraffe."

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry," she sighed wistfully. "I got carried away. I couldn't help it. I'm weak to the plight of helpless dumb animals."

"Now that's really a bit too-" he started but Jeeves's calm warm hand on his elbow stopped him. He swallowed down his complaints and thanked Madeline for her concern. "It's honestly not so bad here. And I have Jeeves to keep me company."

"I'm so glad!" said Madeline and she smiled at last. 

She was quite pretty, Bertie realised, and he was beginning to regret turning her down when he remembered she'd compared him to a giraffe. 

"I wish you well, darling Bertie," she simpered sweetly. "I'll return much stronger and win your hand!"

Honoria muttered something - that Bertie strongly felt sounded like 'over my dead body' - and led Madeline away from the battlefield back to the main road, where no doubt their driver had been waiting impatiently.

"I wonder why Honoria got so upset," said Bertie. "It wasn't her that I turned down."

"It would appear Miss Glossop wishes only for Miss Bassett to be happy in life, sir, which is why she was content to throw away her own reputation as a fierce warrior so that she could win your hand."

"I see. It did seem strange that she'd given up on me all of a sudden. Why go to such lengths for another girl, though?"

"The relationships between women are not for us to understand, but I believe this is a particularly precious one." Jeeves's lip twitched upward in a mysterious fashion. "If it all goes well, I do not think either one will be back for your hand, sir."

"I don't understand what you mean but I look forward to that being the case," said Bertie. "Now then, let's see about having some proper food. I noticed you had hardly a bite of what you brought down."

"A full meal would be a fine idea, sir. After you."

Bertie almost skipped with eagerness to the tower but the joy was short-lived. The sound of a car careening up the path towards them made him fear for a moment that Honoria planned to run him down in revenge, or that Spode had somehow come back.

What he saw when he turned to look was a thousand times scarier.

"What-ho, Aunt Agatha!"


	6. Chapter 6

The car screeched to a halt mere yards away from Bertie's feet and his aunt burst from her seat without waiting for the driver's assistance and scolded him immediately. "Bertie, what's this I hear about you setting your dragon on Roderick Spode and sending him away from here with a claw poking out of his shoulder?"

"Is that how he tells it? I'll have the world know he was the madman who started it all. He tried to kill me with witchcraft, all because Madeline Bassett has got it into the wet mush between her ears that she’s the perfect woman to rescue me. And now that very dragon - my precious dragon! - has gone missing. The poor thing was only doing its job. Lucky Jeeves turned up to distract me from my harrowed ruminations. I'm as fraught as a… as a… fraught thing! An apt simile will occur to me once you've gone, no doubt."

"Yes. That's always the way."

Bertie noticed something strange about his aunt's tone of voice. He looked more closely at her and saw she was staring at Jeeves with an expression on her stony face he wasn't sure he had seen before. She seemed almost frightened.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Gregson," Jeeves said with his usual liquidity. "Your idea to send me ahead worked splendidly."

"Oh," she said after a moment. "It did, did it?"

"What idea is this, then?" Bertie huffed. "No-one ever tells me anything."

"I apologise, Mr Wooster. Your aunt felt that you were of an age where you might find a valet useful, as you have yet to marry. Mrs Gregson wished for me to have a probationary period without your prior knowledge so that my abilities could be judged fairly without preconceptions. We did not mean to deceive you. It is simply that we were not sure if you would warm to the idea."

Bertie brightened. "I am indeed warm to the idea. Positively boiling."

"Unfortunately Mrs Gregson, there was a mishap with my clothes. I believe I left my suitcase in your possession. I would be appreciative if you could find the time to deliver it to the tower."

Aunt Agatha found her voice at last. "I shall send it as soon as I return home. It should arrive before nightfall."

"Speaking of beds," said Bertie. "You might want to send another one up here while you're at it. There's only my little one, you see. Jeeves, I'm surprised you didn't mention it."

"The fact had escaped me, sir."

"Of course. A word please, nephew," Aunt Agatha said and motioned for him to follow her.

He toddled along obediently until they were out of Jeeves's hearing range. "Something wrong, Aunt Agatha?"

"You're sure you're fine with having the valet?"

"You know how jealous I am of all my city friends doing normal things with normal people. Having a valet will make me feel a bit closer to that normality. I'll admit he's hardly riveting company. He's a bit quiet, only says what he thinks is necessary. But I can fill in any gaps in the conversation. You know me, I can talk the hind leg off a whatsit."

"Ass."

"Yes, that's the fellow."

"No, I'm calling you an ass." Aunt Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Very well. You can keep the valet, if you must."

"But didn't you send him here in the first place with that intention?"

His aunt looked strangely surprised for a moment. "Oh? Yes. Yes I did, of course I did." She brushed down her dress and inhaled sharply. "Well, now that's all sorted, I'll be off now." 

"Safe journey and all-"

She lifted a bony finger and thrust it into his face. "Listen well to my advice; you mind yourself, boy. Spode comes from a high place, and has friends from even higher places. Of course, now that he has been outed as a witch, to the few aware of today's antics, he will have to be more careful. I'll have my eye on him, Bertie, but even someone as vigilant as I am must blink eventually."

"I see," said Bertie, not seeing at all. "Have no fear, Aunt Agatha. I'll be perfectly pink here with Jeeves, and hopefully the dragon will come back soon. It's probably waiting for the safety of darkness. When it returns I shall be doubly protected. "

His aunt swivelled abruptly, got back into the car, and assured him that she would send the items requested. With that the driver started the engine and they sped away as quickly as they'd arrived. Betie had rather hoped she would say something comforting about the dragon definitely coming home but he knew he shouldn't have got his hopes up. ‘Aunt Agatha’ and ‘comfort’ did not belong in the same sentence.

"Mr Wooster."

Bertie jumped. "Lord Jeeves, we need to put a bell on you or something. My ticker can't take you sneaking about like that."

Jeeves was clearly offended at the implication that he was the sort to sneak, his face setting into an expression that reminded Bertie of a taxidermied frog in a display case he'd once seen. "I apologise if I startled you, sir."

"Quite all right, Jeeves. Pay it no more thought. Let's go see about some lunch. There's a hole forming where my stomach should be."

"Very good, sir."

**~~~~~**

The suitcase and folding bed arrived promptly after dinner, and since he'd had such a long and excitable day Bertie snuggled eagerly into his blankets and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, whilst Jeeves floated around setting up his bed and doing the last bit of preparation for the morning. Bertie woke earlier than usual and saw Jeeves making breakfast and wearing an impeccably neat uniform. He had swapped out his jacket for an apron and rolled up his shirt sleeves to keep clean as he cooked. Bertie thought the look suited him perfectly. He couldn't wait to see the valet ensemble in its entirety.

"You scrub up well, Jeeves," Bertie said with his mouth agape. "Not that you weren't sharp as a tack before in those bedsheets."

Jeeves inclined his head modestly. "Thank you, sir. I do feel more comfortable. I hope you won’t mind but I took the liberty of venturing to the farm you mentioned yesterday and procuring some bacon for your breakfast. The bill has been charged to your estate."

"Splendid." Bertie sat up to take the cup of tea Jeeves offered during his exposition. "Here Jeeves, I have had a marvelous idea."

"Yes, sir?"

"The dragon is still missing in action, I assume."

"It is not outside, I'm afraid."

"Dashed shame, however the situation gives me an opportunity." Bertie leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "I'm going to take advantage of the aforementioned opp. of a sit. and go to the farm myself, perhaps even the village!"

"I could not recommend it."

"Who's to stop me?"

"I am, sir."

Bertie was shocked by the cold confession. "You, Jeeves? You mean if I were to attempt to flee this lofty gaol you would stop me?

"I would, sir."

"Even go so far as to wrestle me to the ground if I resist?"

Jeeves paused thoughtfully. "I pray it not come to that sir, but if you insisted upon leaving I would have to perform my duty as your valet."

"You mean my warden."

"Mr Wooster, it is for your own safety. Please understand."

Jeeves left the young man sulking in bed with his tea going cold, and dished up the bacon and eggs. Bertie refused to even look at the meal when it was put before him.

"Sir, you must eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Jeeves momentarily set the tray aside and to Bertie's surprise he said, "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, sir. I see no reason why you cannot leave the tower and walk the grounds for some exercise and fresh air."

Bertie perked up at the proposal. "Really?"

"If you wish to go further than that, for example to the lake, I am happy to accompany you."

"And that's the limit, eh? Well it's better than nothing. But my man, don't you worry about me running off once your back is turned?"

"I'm swifter than I appear, sir. I also believe that you would not betray my trust in such a way."

"I should be grateful to you for your 'kind' lenience on the matter, is that it?"

"Mr Wooster," Jeeves replied quietly and placed the tray gently back onto his lap, "I would take you anywhere you wished if I could. But I am bound by a strict code. I cannot say more than this for the time being."

He sounded so earnest that Bertie nodded in agreement and picked up his cutlery. "I'll comply for now Jeeves. But I'll want a better explanation down the line."

"I shall tell you any and all secrets when the time is right, sir. Would you like a fresh cup of tea?"

Bertie nodded again. The food was flavourless and chewy from his miserable state of mind. Tea was the only way to wash it down comfortably. He glanced over at the window and sighed wistfully. Life hadn’t changed at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Apologies for taking a while, I had some homing issues. I should be settled now, phew.**

Bertram Wilberforce Wooster was a grown man and had been one for a good long while and yet he unashamedly skipped through the trees towards the lake in much the same manner that a young girl with a scarlet cloak visiting her invalid grandmother might. He stopped to caress the trees now and then, or to sniff some flowers, or to turn his head towards a rustle that was possibly a squirrel or bird to admire.

At these moments, Jeeves would inform him of the type of tree or flower or creature, and a small fact as conversation. Bertie would nod with fascination and gaily scamper down the dirt path onto the next point of interest.

He could scarcely believe it still. Upon waking only a few hours ago, Jeeves had put his breakfast tray on his lap and though his expression was no different than usual, Bertie could detect something akin to mischief in his eyes.

Then he said the most beautiful sentence Bertie had heard for years.

"Would you care to join me on a walk this morning, Mr Wooster?"

Bertie gulped down his meal so quickly he caught hiccoughs.

Now he was actually on the walk heading towards the lake for a swim and his mind was truly boggled. He marvelled at every sensation. A leaf falling past and catching his ear or landing in his curls. The strong scent of autumn decay as the flowers bowed out to become nutrients for their progenies. The way the soil spread and yielded to his shoes as he went along the path. It was all terribly addictive. He felt like a child discovering puddles for the first time as he stomped deliberately to achieve a deeper imprint in the ground.

They were at the lake within fifteen minutes. Bertie was slightly disappointed that the journey had been so short as he had enjoyed exploring the forest, but he was far more excited to swim and he remained in a heady state of anticipation as he changed discreetly into his swimming costume behind a tree. He had packed it when he was younger, unaware of his aunts' designs to keep him indoors permanently. He had grown slightly, and the fabric clung to his figure in an unflattering fashion.

"No-one to see me but old Jeeves," he reminded himself. "I'm sure it won't bother him."

Jeeves did give him a hard stare when he reappeared but made no comments. Bertie got the feeling he wanted to rip the offensively tight garment from his body but feudal spirit was holding him back. The suit would be far more revealing when wet anyway, Bertie realised. Oddly the thought made him bashful. It was different when it was a group of fellows all in the same boat (metaphorically speaking as the lake was private so there were no boats) but Jeeves was in his full valet attire. It simply wasn't fair of him.

"You won't be having a dip then?" Bertie called over his shoulder as he raced towards the water's edge.

"I am comfortable here with my book, sir."

He supposed it made sense that Jeeves should stay clothed. If any knights turned up unannounced, or worse if Spode tried his luck again, then it was best that at least one of them be presentable. But it would be nice to splash around with a companion.

Bertie dived into the water. He cared not a jot that it was freezing cold and that weeds were wrapping around his toes and fish were skimming against his skin. He hadn't felt so free for a long time. He flopped and frolicked like an overexcited dolphin, not really caring about proper form as he moved through the water.

Eventually his limbs began to ache and his lungs were ragged from gasping between strokes. He paddled to shore and half-dragged himself into Jeeves's arms. He noticed Bertie's flagging the moment it began and had sprung up with a towel immediately. He even had the foresight to build a small campfire during his young master's swim.

"You clever thing," Bertie chattered through his teeth and plonked down on a log Jeeves had pulled from the forest and cleaned the moss from to make it suitable for temporary seating. "Perhaps I shouldn't have been so rambunctious and waited for Spring to roll around."

"I considered that, sir," said Jeeves, drying Bertie's hair with a smaller towel. "You seemed quite eager to peruse the surrounding area. I thought it prudent to 'scratch the itch', as it were, so that you could enter the Winter months having had some relief from your situation. You would also have this experience to recall during the more melancholy moments, with the knowledge that it would not be long before you could repeat the activity."

Bertie nodded. "Gives me some incentive to behave."

"I did not mean that, sir. I meant it as a light at the end of the tunnel."

"I know, Jeeves," Bertie sighed. "And I am grateful. But in some ways it feels like a glimpse of happiness being dangled in front of me and then snatched away. Like a cat with a piece of string, you know?"

"I apologise."

"Not your fault, Jeeves. You don't control the seasons."

"No, sir. I wouldn't hesitate to create an eternal Summer for you if I could."

Bertie wriggled in his towel from embarrassment. "No need to go that far, my man. Are valets usually this altruistic?"

Jeeves simply inclined his head and put some more wood on the fire.

**~~~~~**

There was a rush of warmth as Bertie was enveloped by water. Not the pain of being hit by surface tension as one dives badly into a pool but simply the sudden sensation of every inch of skin being caressed by liquid. But Bertie could not be underwater. He could see clearly, breathe effortlessly. He turned and twisted his body to get his bearings.

Something moved beneath.

In the corner of his eye a large eel-like shape floated sinuously past his feet. He reached down to touch the scaly body but only caught the last flick of tail as it disappeared into the dark.

Bertie was alone.

Then large arms held him around his chest, constricting tightly, but strangely he felt no danger from them.

The water disappeared and Bertie found himself staring up at the ceiling, safe in his bed. He groggily sat up. His body felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of horses, not that he could have known what that was like. He looked up at the gentle cough Jeeves made from the other side of the room.

"Did you sleep well, sir?"

"Funny dreams, Jeeves. However I slept like the proverbial."

A cup of tea was instantly at his bedside table. Bertie drank it without pause even though it was far too hot and scalded his palate and throat. He set the cup down and nodded towards the window in hope.

Jeeves gave him a grave shake of the head.

"Oh," was all Bertie could say.

"It may be a cold day, sir, but a short walk might lift your spirits."

"I don't think my body could manage a walk of any length. My bones are made of jelly. I'm glad you talked me out of that second swim yesterday."

"You have an excellent physique considering you are a man with limited space and equipment, but you lack core strength, sir. You will need to exercise with restraint in future if you wish to further your athleticism."

"I've no intention of becoming an Olympian, Jeeves."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir."

"Though a chap would like to have a splash about without feeling like a corpse the next day."

"Indeed, sir. I can produce a suitable exercise programme if you wish."

"Perhaps just a stroll on the non-rainy days for now. But not this one."

"I would suggest that you not be entirely bed-bound for the day, sir. Some gentle stretches will do your muscles more good than harm." 

Bertie didn't like the sound of that but he knew Jeeves was right. It was like suddenly pulling the brake on a speeding train. His body couldn't shut down simply because it was feeling a bit sorry for itself.

He washed and dressed after eating which gave him enough time to digest his meal enough that it wouldn't sit heavy on him as he flapped around the room to shake out his muscles. He remembered some basic warmups from doing sports at school and Jeeves taught him a few new ones, deftly manoeuvring his body into the right stances to get the best results.

Afterwards Bertie felt much better, yet not enough to forget his dreams, or his dragon.

**~~~~~**

Jeeves must have had a sixth sense for weather. The following day Autumn packed its bags early and set off with a gay "Cheerio!" as Winter bustled past, threw a suitcase down, kicked off its shoes in the hallway and demanded the best room.

The two men mostly remained in the tower. Jeeves went to the village only for the food that was unavailable on their delivery. Bertie quickly worked out not to mention any cravings he was having. Jeeves would interpret the uttering as a covert demand and immediately go out to fetch the item to satiate him no matter the weather and Bertie found it irksome that the man wouldn't accept the remarks as merely fanciful wishes.

He was a good valet: too good in many ways. Bertie felt undeserving of him but was also glad to have him in his life.

Unlike the dragon, Jeeves could discuss books and music rather than passively listen to Bertie's lyrical waxing. Jeeves could play games as well, though the dragon had done its best to play along. Bertie had chosen games like chess where it didn't matter if Bertie moved the pieces for it. But the dragon couldn't hold a hand of cards. That was a shame because knowing its habit of blank stares of disapproval at some of his actions or conversation points, Bertie guessed it would likely have had an excellent Poker face.

The other reason he was thankful for Jeeves was that people suddenly stopped visiting. No more knights turned up, which was normal once the weather started to go downhill, but his friends usually pootled down from London to check on him at least once a month. Bingo was his last visitor if one didn't count aunts and Spodes.

When Bertie didn't even receive Christmas well-wishes from loved ones, he crawled into bed early and silently wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We all know Jeeves didn't read a word of that book.**


End file.
